


Paging the Goddamned Doctor

by orphan_account



Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Bones being bones, F/M, Prangley the smartassed redshirt, Romance, This is My Design, dammit man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-02
Updated: 2013-08-02
Packaged: 2017-12-22 04:21:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,486
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/908857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bones is <em>very </em>certain he’s missed something. Looking back, in fact, he’s just about ninety percent sure that a few things flew straight over his head. Either that, or this whole ship has finally jumped the damn shark and all of the kids have thrown their hands in the air, said ‘<em>to hell with this, let’s all be <strong>really </strong>immature!</em>’ Or, Prangley could have been watching <em>And Now for Something Completely Different </em>and had decided to take a leaf out of the ancient sketch comedy book and throw someone completely the hell off.</p><p>Any way you slice it, Bones has determined that <em>there has <strong>got </strong>to be a reason she’s walked into the med bay, pouted at me, pointed out the cut on her bottom lip, and asked, “Can you kiss it better?”</em></p>
            </blockquote>





	Paging the Goddamned Doctor

**Author's Note:**

> Long story short: BONES.
> 
> Long story explained: so Bones is my otl and he demanded a space gf with zero tolerance for his or anyone's BS. SO HERE YA GO. c: Rated T for Bones and his potty mouth. (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ

Bones is _very_ certain he’s missed something. Looking back, in fact, he’s just about ninety percent sure that a few things flew straight over his head. Either that, or this whole ship has finally jumped the damn shark and all of the kids have thrown their hands in the air, said ‘ _to hell with this, let’s all be **really** immature!_’ Or, Prangley could have been watching _And Now for Something Completely Different_ and had decided to take a leaf out of the ancient sketch comedy book and throw someone completely the hell off.

Any way you slice it, Bones has determined that _there has **got** to be a reason she’s walked into the med bay, pouted at me, pointed out the cut on her bottom lip, and asked, “Can you kiss it better?”_

_Unless…unless she’s flirting with you._

_Oh. **Oh.**_

_Oh._

_Dammit man, say something._

_This is the shit that happens to Jim, what am I supposed to say?_

_Damn, damn, damn, the weather._

_You’re in space, Bones, dammit. Dammit, damn it all._

He’s turned to the sink, and is washing his hands- an appropriate preemptive measure for a medical professional- _I’m a doctor, dammit-_ but it also gives him approximately twenty more seconds to flounder in a wordless abyss for something to say.

Meanwhile, Prangley; her hands folded almost neatly in front of her, is peeking with some difficulty around his back, where she stands, frowning. “Am I…sorry, am I making you uncomfortable? If…if I’m being too pushy I can cut it out. Just…give the word.” A pause, as she waits for a word. “Say something. Doc, you all right?”

“I told you, it’s Bones,” he mutters at her (he’s got this distinct tone of voice he uses constantly, the one he’s heard called ‘the grumpy cat noise’). “You never needed any encouragement before.”

“Well, sorry,” she says, not sounding remotely sorry (quite sarcastic, in fact), “With your constant moodiness, it’s hard to tell if I’ve offended you or not.”

When he looks back at her, she’s got the crossed-arms of doom and the eyebrow thing that she does- damn it, the _eyebrow raise,_ the one the engineers say could stop a charging Klingon in its tracks.

Grudgingly, he says, “You haven’t offended me,” and returns to digging in the cabinets for something to put on the stupid split lip. “What’d you do this time?” he sighs. It’s not a week, for him, until Prangley has come in boasting some new injury, malady, or space disease for him to fix (damn, damnit, double damn, did he _really_ think that Prangley of all people- intelligent, wonderfully witty, cuttingly aware Prangley was _honestly_ getting herself hurt, sick, or broken every other day? Shut it down, back on track, Bones.) Just last week she’d come in with a chipped tooth from a training exercise; and, after he’d glued the chipped piece back on, she’d fixed him with a sly smile and said, “You know, when I thought about you inspecting my mouth, this really isn’t what I had in mind.”

After which, he hadn’t troubled himself puzzling out what she’d meant by that- doesn’t have _time_ for damned subtext, if the damned kids _really_ want him to know something they can damned _tell_ him, thank you very much- and sent her out with the halfhearted litany, “Don’t hurt yourself, Prangley.” God dammit, but her excuses had been getting dumb, too- like the broken arm after a ground mission:

“What was it this time, Prangley?”

“Tribbles.”

After his _not impressed with you, space cadet_ look, she did concede to amend: “ _Big_ tribbles.”

“Probably haven’t been keeping up with my fluid intake,” she sighs, putting her hands up. “Look, in case it hasn’t caught on, this is far from a medical emergency and I can deal with it on my own; I’m sorry for taking up your time.”

“Don’t get passive-aggressive with me, kid!” he snaps at her, turning from the shelves.

“Don’t call me kid; I’ve been commissioned twice as long as you have!” She retorts, scowling, pulling on the angry-looking weal on her usually supple pink lip, the one she’s always biting on. They do look a little chapped, though- he winces with her when she drops the look, turns to the side to bring a hand to the undoubtedly-smarting spot.

“Here, here,” he mutters, stepping up with the Vaseline (tried and true). He smacks her hand away from where she’s touching gingerly with the pads of her fingers.  “Don’t do that.” As he’s opening the jar, he shoots her a glare, when she starts prodding at it with the tip of her tongue. “Stop. Stop touching it.” He comes out with the gel; dabs it gently on the red weal. She winces, at first, but then she relaxes a bit, sighing slightly as he rubs it easily in.

He shakes his head, then. “Really; breaking your arm? There are other ways to get my attention, Prangley.”

“I know,” she says, “I’m not dense.” The eyebrow goes up again. “ _You_ are.”

“Excuse me?” he says, halfheartedly, screwing the top back on to the tub and walking it back over to the shelf- it’s a bit hard to contradict her when she’s saying things he really can’t argue with.

“Seriously. I was cringing over the line about mouth inspecting; I figured even you wouldn’t miss that.” She shrugs. “I was wrong. Even _that_ one went in one ear and out the other.”

“I’ve developed a high tolerance to bullshit, Prangley.”

“Tolerance? Remind me how long it takes you to start sassing Mr. Spock on the bridge. I believe you’re looking for a different word.”

“Damnit, I’m a doctor, not an English major,” he sighs at her, and goes back to get a second look at her lip.

She’s cocking her head at him now. _Damnit, stop that, keep that up and I’m going to break protocol._ “Bones-”

“Len,” he says, suddenly, and he doesn’t know why. “Call me Len.”

“I thought I was supposed to call you Bones.”

“Dammit, you heard me.”

“All right,” she says, smiling that little half-smile, with the eyebrow. Dammit, now he _knows_ she’s out to kill him. “Len. Tell me; are you denser than a rock, scared of women, or possibly a combination of both?”

“What-?” he splutters, “Afraid of women? That’s got to be the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard. What did I hit you with last week, in the hypospray?”

“You act like I’m shooting up your feet whenever I display the mildest interest in you,” she shrugs, folding her arms across her body. It’s a fine figure, he knows, he’s had to patch it a fair few times up close and personal- _dammit, man._ “I meant what I said, earlier. If the feeling’s not mutual, I’ll stop.” She shrugs, again, avoids his eyes. “Move on, find someone else.”

“Whoa, wait just a damn moment.” He holds up a hand. “What do you mean; move on, find someone else- what _feeling_?”

She frowns at him, now, and then turns to the side. “Look, you don’t have to play dumb with me. I’m giving you a way out here, obviously you’re not comfortable with your feelings, I get it. A lot of guys have that problem.” She’s halfway out the door, but his hand shoots out and grabs her elbow.

“I _know_ that,” he says. “You’re losing me on the peripherals, darlin’. You’re taking this all lightly; saying things like moving on and finding someone else is heavy stuff. I’d know that better than most people.” Slowly, she turns around, holding his eyes. Hers are wet, and she looks like she’s trying hard not to let her lip quiver. Gently, he swipes a thumb under one eye- hazel, they change some days, some days looking greener, some days more brown. Today, it’s a healthy mix that looks like Georgia and home that he’s finding it hard not to lose himself in. “If that’s how you feel about the…the feeling…I would be working harder to go after it.”

“Gotta meet me halfway,” she says, softly. His fingers have drifted, from the wet crescents beneath her eyes to the stray lock of hair framing her face. He’s brushing it out of the way- and really, he was screwed as soon as she stepped into his med-bay, why didn’t he just come to terms with that sooner? To hell with fear; to past screw-ups and mistakes. No need to be letting that rub off on her, this promising new…thing.

“On it, darlin’,” he murmurs, and he kisses her. It’s a little slippery, from the Vaseline, and he’s a little out of practice- but her small hands grip at the seams of his uniform shirt, and it’s damned good, whatever it is. They’ll have plenty of time to work out the details later- for now, this is just fine.


End file.
